Chapter 21

Bel's spine stiffened, and for a moment she didn't believe the words spilling from Mrs. Wyatt's mouth.

"Annalise folded these?" she finally asked.

"Every time she chewed gum, which was often," Mrs. Wyatt confirmed. "It was hard to ignore. Plus, Hazel kept the butterflies. She thought they were cute, and when she'd collect enough of them, she'd string them up as garlands for her bedroom. Hazel was young and still girlish, and she viewed Annalise as this sophisticated role model. She wanted to be like her. That's probably why she was holding the butterfly. She was afraid." Mrs. Wyatt choked on her words, and Bel looked away tokeep fromsobbing. A single tear escaped her eye, though, and for minutes, the three of them mourned the girl who never saw the future she deserved.

"Would you like to see them?" Mrs. Wyatt eventually asked. "The butterflies?"

"I would love to." Bel smiled as the woman's eyes slid to her throat again before she stood from the table.

"We kept Hazel's room the way she left it for when she came home, and how we wanted her to come home. But these past three years of waiting and wondering have been too much. Expecting the worst and knowing it had happened, but refusing to believe it?It's better we know. At least now we can mourn her and give her a proper funeral." She paused before the bedroom door. "Did she suffer?" She stared at Bel's neck as if she was afraid that whatever had scarred the detective had killed her daughter.

"I don't think so," Bel said. "She was drugged, and the body goes numb when it freezes. I won't lie and say it wasn't terrifying, but I don't think she suffered."

"That's good." Mrs. Wyatt wiped her cheeks and then opened Hazel's bedroom door. "See." She pointed to the hundreds of gum wrapper butterflies floating above the twin mattress. "Annalise folded tons of them, but she'd always throw them out, so Hazel rescued them."

Bel reached up and brushed her fingers over the blue origami. There was no mistaking it. These were the same butterflies Anne Blaubart folded, the same nervous habit, and while she'd hoped this explained the differences between Anne Chambers and Anne Blaubart, the timeline and the photographs on Hazel's dresser warned this wasn't the answer she was searching for. The Blaubarts had been married for almost a decade, while Annalise had only been missing for three years. There was no way she could've assumed Anne's life without anyone noticing. Plus, the photos told Bel the two women weren't the same person. She couldn'tput a finger onit, but something about Annalise was too remarkable. Plastic surgery couldn't perform miracles. No amount of cutting could turn the unique and sophisticated woman posing on a college campus with Hazel into the perfect Anne Blaubart.Which meantBel had found a fourth scene with origami and no explanation for their identical presence.

"Does Annalise havefamily?" Bel asked.

"Not that we know of," Mrs. Wyatt said. "It came up once during her stay with us for the holidays. She said her parents and grandparents were gone, and she was an only child."

"So no one would miss her?"

"Besides us? No. Why? Do you think she was taken with my daughter?"

"I do," Bel said. "But I don't remember finding her on the Walker property, so something must've separated them."

"Are these butterflies important?" Mr. Wyatt asked. "You drove all this way to ask about them."

"I believe they are," she said. "I'm just not sure how yet. I didn't want to intrude on your family, but when you offered to help with our investigation, I figured it was worth a call. I know it won't bring Hazel back."

"But will it help find Annalise?" Mrs. Wyatt asked.

"Maybe."

"Well, Annalise was nice to our Hazel," Mrs. Wyatt said. "I always felt motherly toward her, so I hope she's okay."

Bel sat in the diner's corner so she could work while she ate, and she fired off an email before she dialed Dr. FrankVictors'phone number.

"Detective?" he answered on the second ring. "It's good to hear from you. I didn't see you after the FBI raided the island. Can you believe what they found there? Right under our noses?"

"It was insane after the FBI arrived," Bel agreed. "As soon as Eamon and I were cleared, we left."

"Of course, you were cleared," Frank said. "The detective who saved the Darling family isn't involved in an illegal surgery operation. They interviewed all of us doctors extensively, though. I understand why, but still, I felt guilty after my interview despite running a respectable practice."

"Those interviews can do that to you," Bel said, noddingherthanks to the waitress dropping off her meal. "But I'm friends with someagents if you ever need me to vouch for you."

"You're sweet, but I was cleared. I can't imagine you called to talk about that, though. Is it about your scars? Rumor on the island was you were asking about reducing them. You're a beautiful woman, Isobel, and I'm sorry you have to live with those marks, but plastic surgeons can only reduce scarring. We can't erase it. If you start messing with your neck, you couldmake it worse."

"Oh, goodness," Bel laughed. "Dr. Victors, I'm very pleased with your work. I was helping the FBI, and I figured my best chance of getting doctors to talk was to dangle a surgery in front of them. It didn't work, though. They just referred me back to you, so no worries. I'm happy with my appearance."

"Well, that's good to hear, and please, call me Frank."

"Will do. And I'mactuallycalling with an odd request," she said. "I just sent you an email, and I realize it's weird, but please humor me."

"Okay…" his answer came out like a question. "I got it… why are you sending me a photo of Anne?"

"Because I wanted you to see the photos side by side. The woman in the airport selfie," Bel said, referring to the picture Mrs. Wyatt had given her. "Is it possible that she and Anne Blaubart are the same person?"

"Excuse me?" His confusion made her cringe. It was one thing talking this theory through with Olivia, but she realized how absurd she sounded when she mentioned it to someone who wasn't her supportive friend.

"I realize it's weird, but could that woman become Anne Blaubart with enough plastic surgery and makeup?" she asked.

"I assume you have a reason for asking?"

"I do."

"Right, well… let me see." He paused for so long that Bel worried he'd hung up. "All right, are you still there?"

"Yes."

"In my professional opinion, the woman in this selfie could never convincingly pass as Anne Blaubart."

"That's what I assumed, but I'm no expert," Bel said. "I couldn't place why."

"It's the eyes," Frank said. "They are too far apart. They'reactuallyquite far apart, more so than most women, but on her, it's exotic. She wearsthemwell, but they are noticeably wide. Anyone looking at the woman in this photo would instantly notice her face was extremely unique, while Anne has classic features with eyes fairly close together. Plastic surgery can do a lot. It can alter people's ears, noses, chins, and cheekbones. It can increase or decrease breast size, add implants to parts of the body, and remove fat from others, but the two things it can't do are change a person's height and move their eyes. To shift someone's eyes closer together, the surgeon would have to break the skull first, which risks blindness and brain damage, and a neurosurgeon would need to be present. Regardless, it's never done. This procedureis occasionally performedon young children when necessary for quality of life, but never cosmetically on adults. The risks are too high."

"So, eyes and height aregive aways?" she asked.

"Yes, but it's not an exact science unless the individuals are vastly different, which these women are," he said. "If this woman's eyes were closer together, I couldn't be certain, but this is a straightforward case. The stranger in the selfie and Mrs. Blaubart aren't the same person."

"I see what you mean now," Bel said. "Thank you."

"No problem." He paused. "Is everything okay with Anne?"

"I realize it's confusing, but I can't say more," she said. "It's… I don't know what it is. That's why I called. I'm trying to figure something out, and please keep this between us."

"Of course," he said. "I've been following your career since I operated on you. I'm invested in your success, and you're good at your job. You wouldn't ask me a weird question without reason."

"I don't have the time to prank call you," she laughed.

They spent the next few minutes catching up, and whenthey finally said their goodbyes, Bel dialed Olivia to recount her day,starting withher conversation at the Wyatt'stoher butterfly discoverytoDr. Victor's expert opinion.

"So Annalise Sept has identical personality traits and habits as Anne Blaubart, and she's missing, but because of the timeline and her eyes,it's impossible she'sAnne," Oliviasummed up, her voice as frustrated as Bel felt. "Gum wrapper butterflies have appeared four times ina matter ofweeks, two of which have been at crime scenes. Annalise might not be Anne, but something's going on."

"Do you have time to play devil's advocate with me?" Bel asked as she threw cash down on the table for her meal. It was too late to return to Bajka, so she'd found a motel for the night. "What if we're looking at this wrong?"

"Okay, I'm game. Hold on… Ewan, can you take the chicken out of the oven? Thanks, babe… all right, I'm back. Sorry, I didn't want dinner burning."

"No worries. I can call back if you want to eat."

"Start talking, lady," Olivia demanded. "I'm invested."

"Okay, okay," Bel laughed. "So, what if our theory focuses on the wrong things? We've taken these coincidences to mean Anne Chambers and Anne Blaubart are two different women, but people change. Especiallygirls in college who lose their parents and eventually marry wealthy surgeons. Anne would've had to tone down her wild streak to fit into her husband's world, and a slightly inappropriate scar would no longer be a funny party laugh. So what if Anne isreallyAnne, and there's no identity theft?"

"Okay, keep going."

"Dr. Jake L. Hyde doesn't exist. He isn't real," Bel continued.

"But didn't you meet him?"

"I met a man someone wanted me to believe was Hyde, but there's no such person. The FBI has no leads on who owns the island.Seemsthe surgery operation didn't just cater to criminals. Some upper-level government officials and federal agents who betrayed our country passed through their doors, and it seemed one of them created a convincing fake ID for Hyde."

"Government officials? That's scary."

"I know." Bel got into her car and turned on the Bluetooth speaker. "But the point is, Hyde isn't real. He wasn't the man I met, so who owns the island? Who runs that surgery operation? This is probably insane, but what if Anne Blaubart is Jake L. Hyde?"

The connection went silent.

"Olivia?"

"I didn't hang up. I'm thinking."

"Okay." Bel eased onto the main road and aimed for the motel.

"Anne came from a wealthy family, but were they ‘own an island' wealthy? She attended an expensive college, but not ‘that' expensive. The Chambers don't strike me as a family who owned a private luxury resort."

"What if the island was just land when Anne inherited it?" Bel asked. "The buildings looked newer, so maybe the property was always in the family, but it wasn't until after Anne graduated that it became a resort.Couldbe why she disappeared after college. She wasn't in the country."

"Okay, I'll bite," Olivia said. "The records of the island's true ownership have been destroyed, so Eamon could own it for all we know… Bel, close your mouth. I don'treallythink it's him. I'm just making a point."

Bel chuckled as her partner continued.

"Anne's choice of husband makes sense. Ewan has picked up a few police habits from me, and I've learned more about handmade furniture than I care to admit," Olivia said. "Couples always influence each other, and through Charles, Anne would have the protection of his legal business,hisknowledge, contacts, and experience. No one would question her movements through that world. They would assume it was a byproduct of her marriage. People also rarely suspect trophy wives to be the guilty party, so she's the perfect Hyde. But…" she emphasized the word. "If Annalise folded the butterflies in Hazel Wyatt's room, why does Anne have the same nervous habit? And what's her motive? How does a carefree, wealthy college student become the director of such a dangerous criminal organization?"

"How is a photographer capable of freezing forty-two women?" Bel countered as she pulled into the motel parking lot. "Some people sell their souls to the darkness and never re-emerge."

"I believe that of Jax Frost, but Anne?" Olivia asked. "Her college friends we interviewed didn't describe someone who became rich by helping evil escape justice."

"But she did seem like a girl who'd help those she cared about," Bel said, a sudden connection popping into her head. "Maybe the island was originally meant to help people. People like Annalise Septwhowere running from monsters. Women who had nowhere else to go, so they came to her, and she remade them. The resort and operations would've cost more than the Chamber's fortune, though, so perhaps she made deals with devils to finance her operation."

"So, she picked up the origami habit from Annalise?" Olivia wondered aloud. "If you're right, it would explain why the clinic only kept criminal records. Anne needed insurance for her safety, but she wanted the women she helped to be free. Reconstructive facial surgery takes time to heal from. Maybe she sat with Annalise and listened to her tale of a madman who kidnapped her and how her friend died in a freezer. Of how the police didn't believe her because she was drugged and without identification when she filed the report. And during her entire recounting, Annalise cried and folded butterflies with her favorite gum wrapper."

"And Anne eventually picked up the habitto remindherself why she built the clinic."

"If that's the case, I almost want her to get away with it," Olivia said.

"I would too if she didn't help the likes of Alex Kinley," Bel said, getting out ofher car. "There are dozens like him, too. Men who murdered innocent people and trapped girls in their basements… Maybe the clinic didn't start that way. Perhaps she started small, and eventually, the operation grew beyond her control as news of her services spread. But whoever Hyde is, they helped monsters escape justice, and someone like that must be stopped."

"I know," Olivia said. "How convinced are you that Anne is Hyde? Because your story sounds convincing, but…"

"I have nothing but my gut feelings and my imagination," Bel finished for her.

"We've faced weirder, and I'll always back you up, but does this feel right to you? You were on that island. Is she Hyde?"

"Yes… maybe. She's involved somehow. I'm certain of that."

"Okay. So how will you prove it?"

"I don't know." Bel stared at the lackluster motel as the last rays of sun vanished behind the buildings. "Ireallydon't."

"What?" Eamon glanced down at the phone as he shaved.

"Nothing." Bel smirked as she nestled lower into the pillows. She hadn't expected to spend the night away from home, and she was without luggage, so after she checked into the less-than-stellar motel, she'd found a drugstore and bought herself toiletries, snacks, a three pack of underwear, and a generic graphic tee to sleep in. Despite the accommodations, she'd slept well, but she'd set her alarmso she couldcatch Eamon before he sequestered himself in endless meetings.

He raised his eyebrows at her through their video chat, and she shrugged as a blush stained her cheeks.

"I was just thinking if I were there, I would've relieved you of that towel a long time ago." She dramatically dipped her eyes to where it draped low on his hips, and it wasn't lost on her that his suite's bathroom was practically the same size as her entire motel room.

"If you were here, I wouldn't need a towel." He winked, and Bel reached out and traced the outline of his image on the screen.

"When will you be home?" she asked. "I miss you."

"I'm not sure. Things are a mess over here. If I'd known you were planning on roaming about and staying in hotels, I would've packed you and Cerberuswith me. I wouldn't see you often, but at leastI'd knowwhere you were sleeping." His gaze shifted to the pillows below her. "I'm putting your name on my credit card."

"Why?" Bel asked. "I have a credit card."

"Because I leave and you decide to drive all over the country and stay in places like that."

"I only drove a few hours." She rolled her eyes. "And I can afford a hotel. I just took myself by surprise yesterday and this was here."

"I'd feel safer if you had my card when I wasn't around… for emergencies," he added when he registered her expression. "Like this."

"You can give me one, but I won't use it," she said.

"I would prefer you did. I'd feel better knowing you had the means to keep yourself safe."

"I have a gun," she teased.

"And a knack for spiking my blood pressure. Please, for me. If I give you one, will you promise to use it when you need help?"

"Fine, but only because I'll agree to anything when you look like that."

Eamon jokingly flexed his biceps for her benefit.

"I should get going," she said. "But Ireallymiss you. Fix that company so you can flex for me in person."

"Anything for you, Detective."

"You're annoying, you know that? I went for thirty-four years without you, and my life was fine. Then I meet you, and I get cranky when you're gone for a few days. It's frustrating."

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me." Eamon leaned closer to his phone. "I love you. Seeing you on my screen isn't enough. Even in that ridiculous shirt, you're the most beautiful humanbeing."

"What? You don't like it?" She sat up and thrust her chest out so he could see how stupid it was. The drugstore's selection was woefully thin, and since she had to buy something unflattering, she liked the idea of buying the worst one. "I think it's sexy. I may buy more and make them my entire personality."

"It's so sexy I want to rip it off," Eamon deadpanned. "Like rip, rip it off. No saving it. Into shreds, then right in the trash."

She laughed at the image of him fighting the ugly shirt, but his smile faded as his eyes shifted to the top of his screen.

"I hate to hang up, but I have to go," he said. "Please be safe driving home and text me when you get there. I won't be able to call during my meetings, but I can read your texts."

"I will. Hurry home to me."

"It's all I think about." He kissed his fingers and pressed them to his phone, and Bel pretended to catch the kiss in her fist before popping into her mouth. He rolled his eyes, but his smile betrayed his true feelings. "I love you, Isobel." His black eyes flashed at his confession, and then he was gone, her screen cold and empty.

Bel made quick work of showering and leaving the motel, and after finding a coffee shop, she filled her tank with gas for the return trip, but an hour into her drive, a New York City sign caught her attention. If she remained on the highway, she'd enter Bajka's town limits in a few hours, but if she took the exit, she could be at Charles Blaubart's office by mid-afternoon. She had a mile to decide.Sixtyseconds to choose which direction she would take, and at the last second, she swerved onto the exit. Using her Bluetooth connection, she dialed Agent Jameson Barry, but when he didn't answer the phone, she spoke to his voicemail.

"Hey, it's Detective Emerson," she said as she settled in for the long drive. "I might know who Hyde is.I have no proof,justasuspicion.I realize you can't do anything with that, soI'm going tofind you proof. I don't know how, but I will."